


everything i could ever want (we're wild and we're young)

by greyspilot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Fluff, fred is a famous youtuber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyspilot/pseuds/greyspilot
Summary: It was meant to be a joke.Primrose didn’t expect a reply, and she definitely didn’t expect to walk out of Starbucks late Friday night to find twin, prankster, YouTube sensation (his words, not hers) Fred Weasley standing there with a couple cartons of eggs tucked under one arm, a three-pack of toilet paper under the other and what looked like two dark sweaters thrown over his shoulder.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	everything i could ever want (we're wild and we're young)

**Author's Note:**

> i saw this prompt on tumblr and had to write this immediately:
> 
> “you’re famous and i jokingly left a comment on your social media post asking if you’ll go egg my ex-partner’s house with me this weekend, and i never actually expected you to respond, let alone show up friday night with dark sweatshirts, toilet paper rolls, and three egg cartons tucked under your arm."
> 
> yes this is completely unedited and i'm not sorry.

It was meant to be a _joke_.

 _Meet me outside Starbucks at Kings Cross Station this Friday after closing_ , she’d commented under the selfie Fred had posted. _I need help egging my ex’s house and you look like just the guy for the job._

Primrose didn’t expect a reply; Fred was a modern celebrity, after all.

His YouTube channel had started out simple enough, just him and his brother documenting the practical jokes they’d play on each other. And then one video went viral and suddenly they were promoting products for big companies and releasing their own line of _fireworks_. (They even had that little blue tick on twitter.)

So no, Primrose didn’t expect a reply, (she almost dropped her phone into a jug of steamed milk when it pinged with the notification. _I’ll be the one with the red hair and eggs, you’ll be the one in the green apron, probably. See you then, love._ ) and she definitely didn’t expect to walk out of Starbucks late Friday night to find twin, prankster, YouTube sensation (his words, not hers) Fred Weasley standing there with a couple cartons of eggs tucked under one arm, a three-pack of toilet paper under the other and what looked like two dark sweaters thrown over his shoulder.

Fred gave her a smile that was a little too charming and a little too familiar for someone who was strictly a stranger, and Prim realised then that she must’ve truly looked like a deer in the headlights.

 _He must know I left the comment, I’m the only one here._ Prim decided, because the alternative meant he had gone on to look at her pictures and that indicated a level of interest on his part that she was not ready to entertain at this point.

“So,” Fred started, that grin twitching into a smirk for just a second, “No green apron, then?”

“No,” she answered dumbly, mouth still slightly agape, “it’s hanging out back, we generally don’t take them home unless-”

Why was she telling him this?

Snapping her mouth shut, Prim took a minute to study the enigma of a man standing before her. He was taller in person (a lot taller, actually, having at least a foot of height on her), though Prim put that down to only having had George to compare him to previously. From this close she could also see there was a smattering of light freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose. She liked them. Most surprising was the colour of his hair; she had always assumed it was edited, at least a little, but even now, in the not-so-flattering light of Kings Cross Station at 10 p.m., it was the most vibrant shade of orange she’d ever seen.

“You’re Fred Weasley,” she said. Not her best moment, admittedly, but she was still a little dumbfounded.

“I am!” His grin broadened. His voice wasn’t very deep, but each word he spoke dripped with the kind of charm and enthusiasm that could convince you to do anything he asked. “And you’re the damsel that asked for my help.”

Forgetting herself for a brief moment, Primrose scoffed.

“I’m hardly a _damsel_. I-” And then, she remembered exactly who she was talking to and she straightened up, glanced around the empty station as though she were waiting for something to jump out. “Wait a second. Is this a prank? Is George around here somewhere? Am _I_ going to get egged?”

Fred laughed at that, a full-bellied thing that had him throwing his head back as he cackled in delight. It was the kind of laugh that, under different circumstances, someone could fall in love with.

“Now, why would you think that?” Fred asked with a shake of his head, and though his words sounded genuine enough there was a mischievous glint in his eye that kept her cautious. She cocked a brow and the _really, Fred?_ stayed unspoken. He breathed out a chuckle, much smaller this time (sadder, too, if she thought about it too much) and shook his head again. “Maybe when I was younger, but not now. Got a brand and a public image and all that.”

His smile had fallen at the mention of his brand and public image and _all that_. She wanted to ask about it, to prod a little more about why he wasn’t _beaming_ about it, but he spoke again before she had the chance. Probably for the best, too. He may have just turned up outside her place of work ready to egg her ex’s house, and she may be feeling a little too comfortable with him (she blamed it on the natural charisma this man oozed and most decidedly _not_ on the crush she had harboured since she found their channel at sixteen), but they were still _strangers_.

“Right then,” he said, perking up once more, a practiced smile settling on his face and hiding any trace there had ever been a frown, “Lead the way.”

“You’re serious?”

“Oh, Primrose, I take egging houses _very_ seriously.”

Prim sputtered. If she had a drink (and she was starting to think she’d need one before the night was over) she would’ve choked on it. “How do you know my name?”

Fred looked around the near-abandoned station and leaned in, as though he was about to let her in on some sort of secret. And then-

“It’s in the handle, love.”

He smelled like orange and cinnamon, two things she loved because they reminded her of Christmas holidays with her mother, back when her family was as close to happy as they could be, but Prim wasn’t going to let that distract her as she crossed her arms.

“Terence’s house is five blocks away,” she said, like that would deter him. Like they couldn’t get a bus or a train or an Uber. Like she was still trying to comprehend that this was _real_ , still waiting for that punchline.

“Well what are we standing around for? We better get walking, eh?”

And that’s how Primrose Avery (only child, barista, _nobody_ ) found herself walking down the streets of London with Fred Weasley (twin, prankster, _YouTube sensation_ ).

If you had asked her that morning how she would be spending her night, she would’ve told you how she spent all her Friday nights (and Saturday nights, and every other night) since Terence left; curled up on her sofa with her cat, probably watching _Weasley’s Wicked Wheezes greatest hits_ compilations. Terence had always found their videos too childish, said _that’s not funny, it’s immature_ and told her to turn it off. Prim had quickly learned not to watch them when he was home.

And while she could understand that their sort of practical humour wasn’t for everyone; it wasn’t even really for her, if she were being honest. If it were anyone else she wouldn’t bother clicking the baiting title, but there was something about Fred and George that’d always got to her. She’d grown up in a big, cold house with equally cold parents and no siblings to keep her company.

Her father was a very serious man and her mother, while loving, was too far under his thumb to ever ever think of speaking out. Laughter and jokes were not tolerated in her house, so when she had stumbled across their channel and saw for the first time what she was missing out on, she couldn’t seem to let it go.

It’s not that seeing Fred in person ruined the illusion, because it didn’t. In fact, hearing Fred laugh with her own ears, rather than the tinny sound that came through her speakers, filled her with more happiness than a ten-minute video ever could. But after years of watching someone, you start to notice things. Things like the way his smile dropped, just for a second, when he talked about his _brand_.

Prim hated to think that someone who has spent most of their life bringing joy to others was doing so at the cost of his own.

“It’s just this one, up here,” she said, pointing at the house on the left, the one with the half-dead rose garden that she had tried (and failed) to revive. Terence’s BMW was nowhere to be seen and she breathed a slight sigh of relief.

Setting down the toilet paper she had taken from him when they began to walk (“No, take this if you must insist. I can’t very well let a lady carry around some stinky old eggs now, can I?”), Prim placed her hands on her hips. “So, what’s the plan?”

“First of all,” Fred said, following her movements and setting the eggs down on the sidewalk before grabbing one of the sweaters he had still slung over his shoulder and holding it out for her. “This is for you.” Blue eyes flitted between the sweater and Fred’s waiting gaze. He pushed it toward her again. “It’s not that you don’t look lovely, but that top is hardly inconspicuous now, is it?”

Conceding his point, Prim took the sweater and pulled it over her head. She was tying up her long dark hair, ready to do some serious mischiefing (she hadn’t actually _planned_ on egginh Terence’s house,in all honesty, but she was here now, with all the tools she needed and one half of the world’s most popular prankster duo. She never was one to pass up a good opportunity to when it presented itself to her) when she noticed-

Cinnamon and orange.

This sweater was _his_.

She had noticed him carrying them when she saw him, sure, but she hadn’t put much thought into where they’d come from. It was ludicrous to think that he had _bought_ one for her, but it never even crossed her mind that he would bring her one that not only belonged to him, but that he had worn enough that it still _smelled_ like him.

Then again, this whole situation was a little bit ludicrous, she thought, might as well make the most of it. Making sure he wasn’t paying attention, Prim took a moment to appreciate the smell (of happiness and home and _family_ ) and promptly pulled herself together.

“Right. Now what, Mr. Weasley?”

“Well, Miss Avery,” he handed her a carton of eggs and Prim took it as she tried not to let him see that she was choking on her air. Her surname was definitely not _in the handle_. “Now, we have some _fun_.”

And then he was taking her hand (and she was decidedly _not_ noticing how warm it was in hers or how gentle he was or how the combination of the two sent a tingle down her spine and right through to her fingertips) and they were running across the road, stopping only when they reached the front of the house.

“Ladies first,” Fred said, dropping her hand to wave his arm with a flourish as if he were presenting this perfect, sandstone house to her. (As if she hadn’t spent the better part of five years in that house.)

Prim took an egg from her carton and turned it over in her hand, considering it. Egging someone’s house _was_ kind of childish, even if that someone did waste almost five years of your life. Even if that someone left you because you wanted to follow your dreams, because you wanted to _figure out_ what your dreams were.

 _Fuck it_ , Prim thought, this is what she had wanted; to be young and dumb and do things that dumb young people do. She wanted to have _fun_.Then, she launched the egg at that stupid, perfect house.

It was oddly cathartic, destroying something that for so long had represented the future everyone else had planned for her. Something frighteningly similar to hope bubbled up in her chest. Finally, the clouds were starting to part and she could see her own path forming past the trees up ahead. (Fred’s cheers and laughter probably had something to do with that warm feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, but there was no point dwelling on that.)

It was over too soon though. They’d barely made it through half of the eggs (and only one roll of toilet paper. Poor effort on their part, she had to admit) when Prim spotted that familiar white BMW turning into the street and heading right for them. In just a second they’d be caught and while she could handle Terence, the last thing she wanted to do was get Fred in any trouble.

Dropping what was left of her eggs, Prim yelled _run!_ and in the very same instant, remembered that Fred had no idea where he was or where he should run _to_.

In a split second decision, Prim took his hand and pulled him along. He stumbled a little out of shock, but recovered easily, like keeping up with her was something he was born to do.

They ran until they couldn’t anymore, until their legs were burning and they couldn’t breathe from giggling, until even the high of the adrenaline and the absurdity of the situation wasn’t enough to keep them going. They ran until they found a park and collapsed on the swingset, huffing laughter and gasping for air.

Their clasped hands hung between them as they rocked gently, each of them silently waiting for their lungs to catch up with them. (And even when she relaxed her grip, Fred didn’t let go.)

The next few minutes passed in a comfortable silence. Prim was staring up at the sky, hoping that somewhere in the stars there was a constellation that would answer all her questions if only she could find it. Fred was looking at her.

“Hey, Prim,” he called to her, voice low. There was something about the way he said her name that was so tender, almost intimate. He said her name like it was something precious. He said her name like it was a secret only he knew.

And Prim was dangerously close to getting attached, but she knew better. Soon enough the clock would strike midnight and she would turn back into a pumpkin, and he would be gone.

She wouldn’t let the charade continue. She wouldn’t delude herself into thinking this _thing_ between them (she hesitated to call it a _flirtation_ , because to name it would be to _acknowledge_ it and she refused to set herself up for disappointment again,) could last any longer than _tonight_.

So Prim shot him a grin, just playful enough to rival his own.

“Close enough for nicknames already, are we? Mighty presumptuous of you,” she teased.

The earnest look on Fred’s face twisted into one of mirth, his brow unfurrowed and that spirited glint returned to his eye.

“Primrose is a lovely name, but it _is_ a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

She offered a shrug and a small nod in response as if to say _good point_ , because she was smiling so hard she didn’t trust herself to form a coherent sentence. 

While she was distracted, Fred let himself get caught up in her smile a little longer than he’d previously allowed himself. She had the kind of smile that could bring men to their knees, he thought. (And maybe she made his go a little weak.)

“Can I ask something?” He asked after a beat, and then, “Might be kind of personal, though.”

Her lips twitched like she was fighting off a smirk.

“We just committed a crime together, Freddie,” she said. “Can’t get more personal than that. Shoot.”

“What’d he do? Terence?”

With a soft sigh, Prim looked back up at the stars. It felt stupid when she said it aloud, like maybe she shouldn’t be so upset about it, but he had asked, and there was something about Fred that compelled her to tell him.

“I dropped out of college earlier this year. I was all lined up to take over my father’s company, had almost finished my degree but I just...I wasn’t _happy_ about what I was doing, you know? I wasn’t _passionate_ about it. So I left, gave up my spot with the company and decided to take some time to just figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Terence decided that he didn’t want to be with someone who was _going nowhere_. So, he left me,” she snuck a glance at Fred, expecting him to look at her like she was crazy and Terence was right all along.

What she found was the complete opposite.

“Wanker,” Fred uttered, brow furrowed, shaking his head. “Was it serious?”

With a tight-lipped smile and a small nod, Prim answered, “Engaged.”

“ _Wanker_!”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. In the grand scheme of things, she supposed Terence hadn’t done anything to truly spite her. At the end of the day, they just wanted different things. She wanted purpose, he wanted the status and power that she gave up to find it.

“It might sound bad, but I’m over it,” she said. Fred cocked a brow and huffed an incredulous laugh. She couldn’t help but smile, a little sheepishly. “Mostly.”

“Yeah, well,” Fred gave her hand a small squeeze, “his loss.”

A hot flush bloomed on her cheeks and the tips of her ears at the implications of his words. The flurry of butterflies in her stomach was getting harder and harder to ignore, but she did her best to swallow it down. Wasting hope on boys never got her anywhere good before, why should this boy be any different?

Prim knew better than to hope for more, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy what she had now.

“Since we’re getting all deep and meaningful,” she said, finally looking at him again, “can I ask _you_ something?”

“Yes, I’m a natural ginger.”

With a _tsk,_ Prim pulled her hand out of his to swat at his shoulder. “I’m being _serious_!”

“So am _I_!” Fred barked out a laugh (and there were those damn butterflies again) and caught her hand once more. “Okay, okay. Ask me anything, it’s only fair.”

“Promise you won’t just make a joke?”

Fred drew a cross over his heart with his index finger. “I solemnly swear.”

Prim tutted at him once more, but she continued. “Back there, at the station, when I asked if you were going to prank me and you said you might’ve if you were younger, you- well, you looked kind of _sad_.”

Fred’s smile dimmed and she immediately regretted bringing it up. It wasn’t her place to ask, she should’ve left it alone.

“Ah,” he glanced down at his feet, “that.”

“You don’t have to say anything, I-”

“No, no it’s okay,” he said. “It’s just that it’s hard sometimes, I guess. I’ve been in the public eye since I was fifteen, sometimes I just miss being able to do dumb stuff without worrying about how the media or the fans are going to perceive it,”

“Like tonight?”

“Yeah,” His face lit up once more and he caught her eye. His gaze didn’t waver, not even when she started to blush under the weight of it. “Like tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I _love_ my job. It’s just a lot of pressure sometimes.”

“Well, Fred,” she said, her voice breaking around the lump of some unnamed emotion that was stuck in her throat. “It’s been a pleasure to help ease some of that pressure. Even if it was just for tonight.”

Primrose had spent hours, maybe even _weeks_ if she counted, of her life watching videos of this man smiling, and yet the smile Fred gave her then was the softest, most genuine smile she had ever seen. He smiled at her like he had been living in silence and was hearing music for the first time. He smiled at her like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time. He smiled at her like she was magic, happening right in front of his eyes.

She would do anything, she decided right then, to make him smile like that again. She would sell her soul to hear that raw, unfiltered cackle of a laugh that was almost _ugly_ if you listened too close.

No matter how many videos she watched after this, nothing could ever make her happier than this night has.

“This may not be the best timing,” he said, almost talking more to himself than to her, “But I’ve never really been one to read the room, so no point starting now, I s’pose. It’s not every day a girl asks you to egg a man’s house with her. What if it wasn’t just tonight?”

Her heart began to hammer a little harder in her chest, she loosened her grip on the slivers of hope she had been fighting with all night.

“What are you asking me, Fred Weasley?”

She knew the answer to that question, of course, but some part of her was still waiting for the punchline (that, by now, she knew wasn’t coming).

“I’d like to take you on a date. No eggs this time, promise. Unless you want a good scramble for dinner, of course.”

And for the first time tonight, the first time in a long time, Prim _beamed_. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling, but she couldn’t seem to keep her cool with the way Fred was looking at her.

The pad of his thumb was rubbing circles on the back of her hand, the tiny action telling her it was _okay_ that she was this excited. The smile on his face that mirrored her own told her he was excited too.

“Well, it’s never a bad time for a breakfast burrito,” she said, and then, “I think there’s a twenty-four hour food truck not far from here that sells them, if you were up for another late night walk?”

Fred glanced down at her lips, let his eyes linger for a minute like he was seriously considering kissing her.

(He didn’t.)

(She wished he did.)

Instead, he stood from the swing and held out a hand for her to take.

“Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> i actually have a full-length fred/prim fic in mind but wanted to use this for writing practice and character study. thanks simon for reading all the random parts i threw at you!


End file.
